


Tongue Tied

by kisssanitygoodbye



Series: Outsiders [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkwardness, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 20:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/891422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven’t talked about it. In fact, they’ve both been doing a remarkable job of acting like it never happened, but it did, and Garrett really, really wishes it hadn’t, because even though he tries, he can’t stop thinking about it; about Andy’s lips that had been really dry and shouldn’t have felt nice at all but totally did; about the warm breath against his face, and Andy’s collarbone pressing against his shoulder, and really, he’s thinking about collarbones? Not a good sign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongue Tied

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anonymouscatastrophe on tumblr :)

When they reach the edge of the park, Garrett stops, grabbing the hem of his jumper and pulling it over his head before shoving it into his bag.

“Yup. It’s definitely still September.” He zips his bag and slings it over his shoulder again, quickly catching up to Andy who hasn’t bothered to wait for him.

“You’re always hot,” Andy says, briefly looking down on himself-- _he_ ’s wearing a light jacket--before grinning at Garrett, his eyes unnaturally bright in the artificial light of the street lamp above.

Garrett chuckles. “Oh, so you’ve noticed.”

Andy opens his mouth and closes it again before he looks away, suddenly very interested in the set of park benches over by the playground.

Garrett stares at the back of Andy’s head, cursing himself inwardly because innocent little jokes like that aren’t as innocent anymore since that one night in Garrett’s bed, where something happened, something he still can’t really explain because it had been over so soon that he would be convinced he imagined it if his lips hadn’t started tingling like crazy and... well, there had been something going on in his pyjama trousers too, which isn’t reassuring at all, because that probably means... something.

They haven’t talked about it. In fact, they’ve both been doing a remarkable job of acting like it never happened, but it did, and Garrett really, really wishes it hadn’t, because even though he tries, he can’t stop thinking about it; about Andy’s lips that had been really dry and shouldn’t have felt nice at all but totally did; about the warm breath against his face, and Andy’s collarbone pressing against his shoulder, and really, he’s thinking about  _collarbones_? Not a good sign.

“What’s in your bag?”

Garrett blinks, eyes focusing on Andy who has turned back to him, arms around his chest and eyebrows raised in question.

He grins, fingers tight around the strap of his bag as he turns left, leaving the gravelled path and walking towards the playground. “Guess.”

“Your brother’s head?”

Garrett snorts, shaking his head in amusement. “Why would I bring Carver’s head to a park on a Saturday night?”

Andy shrugs, grinning. “Getting rid of evidence? You know, having me keep watch while you bury it or something, that whole ‘partners in crime’ thing.”

“Right.” Garrett bumps Andy’s shoulder with his own. “Well, if I ever feel the urge to kill my brother, I’ll keep that in mind, you nut.”

“Good,” Andy says, smiling, running ahead and stopping next to the swing set, wrapping his fingers around the tattered wood. “So what’s in the bag? I’m not guessing again. You don’t want to know about the things my brain can come up with.”

It’s nice, seeing Andy like this again, energetic and funny and laughing, and Garrett’s answer is lost somewhere in his chest, swallowed by the sudden ache between his ribs. If he could, he’d turn all of Andy’s days into good ones, but it doesn’t work like that. He has tried, countless times, but like Andy has said himself, there is no cure for screwed-up-ness, and Garrett knows that, because if there was, he would have gotten rid of his own a long time ago.

“You alright?”

“What?”

Andy huffs, sitting down on one of the swings, fingers tight around the chains, and inclines his head. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Garrett swallows, feeling sheepish because this has happened more often lately, that his thoughts about Andy have made him forget about the real Andy, who is right there, looking at him as if  _he_ ’s the one with the shittier life.

He sits down on the swing next to Andy, his bag on his lap, and he has to push his jumper out of the way to reach the cans at the bottom. He pulls them out, holding one out to Andy, who takes it, laughing and shaking his head.

“Booze. I knew it.”

Garrett opens his can, cool beer spraying over his fingers, and takes a tentative sip. “I am rather predictable.”

Andy looks down at his can, one finger sliding around the rim before he opens it too, scrunching up his face before he swallows. Andy doesn’t like beer much, but he never complains, because it’s better than nothing. “Where did you get it from?”

“Gary, of course,” Garrett says, grinning. “He’s an arsehole, but he’s good for one thing, I guess.”

“There are definitely worse uncles out there.” Andy slides his foot through the gravel, kicking away a few stones, and Garrett watches them disappear in the dark.

They’re all alone, sitting in the park like fugitives, but Garrett can appreciate the silence, the absence of joggers and playing kids and barking dogs. Here, in the middle of the park, even the sounds from the street are just a low murmur, barely reaching their ears.

“Have you talked to the new one yet? This Leto guy?” Andy takes another sip, and when he catches Garrett’s eye Garrett can see that his pupils are blown, but he doesn’t know whether it’s the darkness or the beer’s fault.

Garrett shakes his head. “Nah. I have Chemistry with him, but... I don’t know, he always looks at you like he wants to beat you up.”

“Yeah,” Andy nods slowly. “I heard he lives alone. Like, in his own flat, as an... what do they call it? Emancipated teenager?” Garrett nods. “Must have had a real shitty life at home.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Garrett says softly, thinking about Leto, about how he uses his attitude like armour, about the thick white strand in his jet-black hair, and Garrett knows that hair just doesn’t turn white without reason, not when you’re seventeen.

With a quiet sigh, Andy lifts the can to his lips again, and Garrett watches him drink, watches his adam’s apple jump in his throat when he swallows. “Still, having that kind of freedom must be nice, don’t you think? He can do whatever he wants, be whoever he wants, and there’s no one there to tell him that it’s not good enough.”

Garrett doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just watches Andy finish his beer and hands him another, taking the empty can from him and putting it on the ground when he can’t find a rubbish bin that’s close enough.

“Just saying.” Andy shrugs, and Garrett doesn’t miss how defensive he sounds, as if he needs to apologise for his bitterness, but he doesn’t, not to Garrett, never to Garrett.

When he finishes his beer, Garrett also opens a second one, and he’s starting to feel the familiar warmth in his stomach, the thin blanket of  _not caring_ spreading over him; but alcohol also makes him giddy, and reckless, and he has to watch himself, because too much beer could make him say things he should keep to himself. He’s never needed a filter between his mind and his mouth before, not with Andy, and the fact that he does now should probably worry him more than it already does.

“You always get really deep when you’re drunk,” Garrett says, grinning, just to have something to say, and to steer the conversation away from potentially painful topics.

Andy laughs, and the sound catches in his throat. “I’m not drunk. I’ve had one beer. Well, one and a half.”

“You are  _so_ drunk.” Garrett leans closer to Andy, smiling when Andy frowns. “Your eyes are all pupils. And your cheeks are pink.”

“Oh really? Well, you have that weird hitch in your laugh. Only happens when you’re drunk.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not. Scout’s honour.” Andy’s voice is almost a whisper now, and he chuckles, eyes wide in the dark.

And only when Garrett can feel Andy’s warm breath against his face does he realise how close he is, and he quickly leans back, just as Andy turns his head and looks away, brows furrowed.

Garrett takes a deep breath and lifts the can to his lips to give them something else to do, because he almost...

“Garrett?”

The can almost slips through his fingers when he lowers it, and he can feel his heart thudding against his rib cage, because  _fuck, fuck, fuck,_ Andy’s going to say something. “Yeah?”

Andy’s smiling, but he’s not looking at Garrett. “Well, maybe I’m a little drunk.”

Garrett laughs, breath leaving him in a rush as the comfortable insouciance starts seeping back into him, the relief making him giddy. “Told you.”


End file.
